


The Best Medicine

by ferretsoda



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Embarrassment, F/M, Injury Recovery, Inquisitor Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferretsoda/pseuds/ferretsoda
Summary: Revenge is the best medicine, according to Varric. The tale of Inquisitor "Twinkletoes" Lavellan, part two.





	The Best Medicine

 

 A spiral fracture of the tibia. The second the news hit Varric's ears, he had to repeat it in his head several times. _A spiral fracture. A. Spiral. Fracture._ He tried his absolute best to mask his unbridled joy from the messenger at his door. He should've been knighted. The dwarf wished the Inquisitor a speedy recovery, instead.

It had been three days since that little "mishap" on the way to Emprise du Lion. The expedition had been ordered back to Skyhold to attend to the Inquisitor's injuries. After the new broke, a tsunami of guilt crashed over everyone who had stood and laughed. Fortunately, they had a brilliant cover-up story for the whole ordeal, thanks to a certain brilliant dwarf (who made a mental note to use those "blizzard grizzlies" in his next adventure novel). Of course, he didn't expect any sort of "thank you" from the Inquisitor for this service. She never had, why start now?

But oh, how the fates had smiled on him this day. As soon as the messenger had left, it was like the whole world turned beautiful. The birdsong filtering through an open window seemed more lilting, the soft breeze more caressing, the scent of wildflowers that danced upon it like Orlesian perfume. The dwarf glided to the window, and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he felt all the miseries and burdens evaporate right out of him. The trees' leaves were shimmering and fluttering, coaxing him outside. Soft, billowy clouds overhead only made the offer look sweeter.

Today was a good day to plan revenge.

 

Up in the herb garden was this great little spot: underneath a broad-leaved tree, with plush grass you could sink into. All this (combined with a rather lovely bottle of something Cullen gave him) made for a perfect writing session. He'd managed to write out a quick rough draft for a potential new series in record time, probably due to excitement over his next project _._  He tucked the sheaves into a leather dossier, pulled out fresh parchment, and cracked his fingers. Normally the garden would have its attendants and Chantry members hovering about it like bees, but today? They were all a little busy attending to a certain someone. Varric smiled at the thought, picking his quill up and twirling it back and forth between his fingers. A certain someone...?

 

An idea was starting to take root. A brilliant, brilliant idea.

 

He set aside his writing, got up, and strolled over to the main hall, up the stairways, and into their local spymaster's roost. Fortunately, she wasn't there, or else the plan would have died before it ever took off.

"Look, I had a letter I needed to send today, to the Inquisitor's clan? Lavellan? For my book? I'm on a deadline."

The junior spy he addressed looked caught off-guard. He was the only one up there today, aside from a few nesting ravens and a tranquil mage. The young man stammered, before looking around the piles of parchment strewn everywhere.

"I-if, uh, if you gave it to us then we should have sent it off already...? D... did we not?" he asked, a nervous smile wilting into a chewed lip under Varric's humorless gaze. He ended up hastily scribbling a new message down and tied it to a raven's foot, babbling apologies all the while. The rogue almost felt bad about fooling the kid like this, but it's not like he was asking him to murder a rival novelist.

As the pair of them watched the raven take off, the spy turned and spoke to him, trying to contain his excitement.

"Are you going to show the- the story to the Inquisitor once it's, uh, all done?"

"Now there's an idea," the dwarf mused, smiling innocently.

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks rolled by without incident. Once it was clear that the Inquisitor was going to pull through, everyone breathed a collective sigh. The season grew warmer, allowing the Herald's Rest to set up tables outside for patrons to nurse their drinks in the summer evenings.

"Damn shame, really," Varric mused out loud, tankard in one hand, chin in the other.

"Mmn?" was the response of his drinking buddy. Iron Bull had several empty mugs surrounding him already, and the sun had barely set. Thank the Maker he wasn't paying this time.

"Ah, was just saying it's a shame the Inquisitor's still cooped up inside."

The Qunari nodded, his face looking a little glum. "I heard one of the healers say she's still got 2 more months to go. If it were me, I'd probably go a little stir-crazy." He flashed a toothy grin, which slightly unnerved the dwarf.

"I wanted to visit her, but her little pee-wee gallery said 'no'." Varric gave him a questioning look, but Bull raised a hand, shaking his head a little. "Nah, I decided not to barge in uninvited. Wouldn't want to piss off 'Twinkletoes', especially when she's got a busted leg." The two men erupted into laughter, shared a toast to "Inquisitor Twinkletoes", and continued to down their alcohol together. The drinks rapidly multiplied until neither of them knew what hour it was, let alone what _year_. Varric didn't even know how he got back to his room.

He only remembered a blurry shadow handing him a scroll.

 

* * *

 

The thin red ribbon slipped delicately through the holes, binding the manuscript together. Bold, yet elegantly-penned words adorned the cover page, making it a rather handsome package. _Men's Follie_. An ingenious title, he would humbly admit. In the end, he'd ended up writing a series of adventures; it was hard to pick just one. Especially considering the endless possibilities his protagonist had inspired. He might even end up sending the backup copy to his publisher. But he couldn't take all the credit— some had to go to Isabela for inspiring him with her "friend-fiction" all those years ago.

A knock at the door stirred Varric from his admiration. There to greet him was Seeker Cassandra, her lips pressed into a hard, thin line.

"Leliana told me you contacted the Inquisitor's clan." Well, _shit_.

"Just needed some background information for my book, that's all," Varric chirped. "Can't leave my readers high and dry." Well, it wasn't a _complete_ lie. Only one person would be reading this book, however.

"Do you still have their reply?" She held out an armor-clad hand. "Give it to me."

"What? Why?!"

"It needs to be burned." Varric's horrified face made her roll her eyes and explain further. "If an agent of Corypheus discovers it and figures out who she is or where she came from, it will put not only her clan at risk, but the entire Inquisition, as well. Now give it to me." She gestured her hand out again, a little more forcefully this time.

"Wait wait wait!" was the dwarf's hasty reply, throwing a hand up. He finally sighed, and walked over to a small chest of drawers, pulling the scroll out. "Look, I'll burn it myself. Will that satisfy you, Seeker?"

"Then do it."

"R-right now?" Stony silence was all he was going to get out of her, so after a few moments, he paced over to the fireplace. Tenderly cradling the parchment in his hands, Varric rolled it into the ashy remains of burnt wood, before lighting a match and flicking it in. The taller woman loomed behind him, arms folded in satisfaction as the paper curled up and burned. With a final warning about destroying any duplicates he had, she left. Letting out a breath he'd been holding in, the dwarf leaned against his desk for support, rubbing his face with his hands. That was just the warm-up for today's rendezvous. He gazed at the manuscript through splayed fingers. Tendrils of mischief unfurled inside him, unable to hide the—admittedly shit-eating— grin as he got ready.

 

* * *

 

The Inquisitor never did work or took visitors in her personal quarters anymore. Ever since the Inquisition came into wealth, she preferred keeping the expensive rugs and writing desk unmarred by dirty boots and hands. Instead, she took up office in a smaller room up off of the battlements. It wasn't as impressive, but it came with a cool hidden doorway that led to a tiny converted bedroom. And it was here where the Inquisitor was currently holed up, with her staff, healers and soldiers all packed like nugs in a cage. Just imagining it made Varric step a little livelier as he strolled across the courtyard. He decided to take the long way around this time; it would give him time to go over his plans in his head.

Heading towards the large stone stairs leading to the main hall, he'd earned some looks from bystanders. He'd expected it, though; it wasn't every day you saw Varric Tethras dressed to the nines in a little blue-and-white number he'd kept tucked away for occasions like this. Sera leaned out the window of the tavern, wolf-whistled, and called out to him, "Get you in your fancy plumage! Who's the lucky girly?"

"A gentleman never tells, serah," Varric responded demurely up to her, hand on his chest.

This earned a surprised sputter from her, and a few laughs from nearby scouts and soldiers. He continued up the stairs to the encouragement of a few "Knock 'em dead, Varric!"s, manuscript tucked safely under his arm. Up the stone stairs, and he was out on the battlements. As the wooden door came into view, he noticed the lack of guards on either side. There was, however, a servant with a covered tray rounding the corner opposite his direction. Varric broke into a run just in time to beat her to the door, and shot the willowy elf a dashing smile.

"Ah, sorry about tha- oh! Need me to take that for you?" he offered. The elf looked momentarily bewildered, before smiling shyly and handing the tray to him.

"It's the Inquisitor's afternoon snack, is all, Master Tethras," she stated, eyes downcast obediently.

"And she's got you marching all the way out here for that?" Varric tsked. " _I'll_ take that to her, _you_ take the rest of the day off." And with that, he opened the door and walked through, but not before the elf called out to him. He turned around to see her scuffing the stone floor with a foot, arms behind her back.

"I-I really love _Hard in Hightown_ ," she confessed bashfully. The dwarf couldn't help but give her a genuine smile, and shut the door.

 

The office looked neglected. It was actually... a little... a little sad, to be honest. Overstuffed ledgers begging to be read, cobwebs in the corners, a book on Antivan naval history sitting on a high back chair behind the desk. And everything seemed to have a visible layer of dust.  Varric set the tray down briefly, taking the time to inspect the room. After all, he'd never been inside before— in fact, none of the others probably had, either. There was a small fireplace directly across from the desk, a deep green rug spread out before it. On either side of the tall, narrow window adjacent to the desk were small bookshelves. Sitting on one of them was a knight's helmet tinted black—the same imposing black as Lavellan's armor. Judging by how there were no scars or dents on it, he guessed it was merely ornamental. Varric tiptoed back to the desk, careful not to touch anything. The old mahogany desk had a human skull sitting prominently on it, nestled between an inkwell and a ledger. Pretty morbid for an elf, he thought. That is, until he spotted the wilted wildflower between its teeth. _No way did she put that there herself_ , Varric thought. 

Satisfied with his findings, he picked up the tray once more. Carefully hiding the manuscript under the cloth and setting the food on her desk, he steeled himself as he marched towards the hidden doorway. He was about to rap his knuckles on the door when he stopped himself; why should he announce himself? She never did for him, so why not return the favor? Easing his shoulder up against the door, he counted to three, and then shoved the door open with all his might.

The impact nearly tore the door from its hinges, but rewarded him with an incredibly rare sight: the Inquisitor nearly leaping out of her skin.

"Inquisitor!" Varric sang, his voice resonating in the small room. As he closed the door and took a few steps towards the shaken elf, he got a better look at her. She looked as pale and helpless as a newborn kitten in a storm. Varric had never seen her dressed so simply, either; a white tunic with the sleeves half-rolled was all she seemed to be wearing, but the numerous blankets and pillows more than made up for this. Her expression was somewhere between confusion and horror.

"H... how did you-"

"Oh, I told your nursemaid to take the day off. I graciously offered to fill in for her," he replied smoothly. He rounded the bed, setting the tray on the nightstand, and starting taking off his jacket. He glanced at the Inquisitor, who looked like she was trying to form words and failing.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked, his arms stretched out behind him, giving the elf a decent eyeful of his chest. She quickly turned the other way, causing him to smile broadly as he set the duster on the back of a chair. "Silk brocade wrinkles so easily."

"Why. Are. You. Here." The words sounded mechanical.

"I told you, Your Inquisitorialness! I'm your nursemaid for the day." He scooted the chair closer to the bed before hopping onto it. The elf still refused to turn around, so Varric had to break the ice. "Awww, don't be like that, I'm sure we'll get on like a house on fire." He gave her a hearty, friendly clap on the leg.

Unfortunately, that was the wrong leg.

A bona fide cry of pain ripped from the Inquisitor's lips, followed by her curling in over her prostrate limb. She fidgeted and jerked, expletives trying to escape from behind clenched teeth. Hands grasped at the air in barely-controlled anger.

" **TETHRAS**..." she uttered, teeth gnashing.

 "Hungry, Inquisitor?"

 

A sudden flash of silver, and the tray was held in front of her. It took a few moments for her to collect herself, until she could properly focus on it. Still breathing heavily, she stared at it with disbelief, then shot him a suspicious look. The elf carefully lifted the cloth off, expecting the worst, but upon seeing the manuscript, her face blanked.

"Wh... what is this? What am I supposed to do with this?" She gestured to the manuscript the way one would to a dead animal. Varric feigned surprise, cupping a cheek with one hand.

"Well would you look at that! It's the proof copy of my latest story!" He picked it up and set the tray on the bedside table. The Inquisitor's stare burned into him.

"You nearly re-broke my leg for a fucking BOOK?" The dwarf almost broke out of character and laughed, but managed to contain it. Oh nononono, this was _his_  revenge, not hers. He held the draft out to her enticingly, but she turned away, making a disgusted noise.

"I'm not reading that."

"But I wrote it just for you-"

"I'M NOT. READING IT."

 

A long stretch of silence passed between them. Then, the Inquisitor felt a dip in the mattress, and turned around to see Varric getting up on it, sitting a few inches from her.

"I'll read it to you, then."

A panicked look flashed across her face, and she tried desperately to crawl away. The sudden movement sent a bolt of pain through her leg, making her seize up before doubling over (again). Varric wagged a finger in her face as she swore through her teeth.

"Ah ah ah! We don't want your leg to get any worse, now, do we?" he chided in a sing-song voice. Lavellan was now glaring daggers at him from under her shaggy white hair. He chose to ignore them, and instead flipped open the manuscript, sitting up a bit straighter. "Now you just sit back and relax and let Tethras read you a little story, free of charge." From the way she finally fell back into the pillows in defeat, he knew he had succeeded.

Now the real fun would begin.

 Varric cleared his throat and began. " _Men's Follie_ , penned by Varric Tethras. Dedicated to Inquisitor Lavellan, without whom none of this would have been possible." This earned him a sharp " _ha_ " from sed Inquisitor. Varric's lips curled into a sinister smile. Shooting her one last unreadable look, the dwarf held the manuscript upright and began reading aloud.

 

_Many men knew of her. Many women wished they could be her. She had a smile that could tempt kings and crooks alike. But a soul as pure and untamable as the sky. She was a mere slip of a thing, dancing along the tightrope between girl and woman. She could haunt your dreams before you even met her. Maybe that's how she drove men crazy. How she drove them to die for her, lead armies for her love, and topple empires for a night alone with her._

_She was man's folly._

_Though she was an elf, Follie was still desired all over-_

 

The Inquisitor flinched. It didn't go unnoticed.

"Something wrong?"

"I-... My leg." He could see her swallow visibly. Varric hid a smirk as he scratched his stubbly cheek and continued.

 

_... was still desired after all over Thedas. It wasn't until she had bedded the leader of the House of Crows that tales of her charms began to spread._

_It was the hottest day of the summer when she arrived at Rialto. Her threadbare tunic followed the curves of her body, and with each balmy breath of wind, it left less and less to the imagination. Sweat trickled down her neck, disappearing into the hollow of her throat. As the lusty dockworkers watched her, each one silently wished to be that drop of sweat._

_She had booked a room in a local tavern that evening, hoping to escape the heat. Not even a cool bath could save her from the passion she was about to succumb to. She had gone to bed and started to dream, when she felt cold, metallic hands roaming all over her nude, lithe body. They slowly awakened her, filling her dreams with lust-filled imagery. When she felt one wrap gently around her thigh, she couldn't help but moan, her eyes opening._

_"Sing for me, Follie, my little starling," came a husky, exotic voice._

_"H-how do you know my--ahn-- name?" she whimpered into the darkness. The hands skimmed across her skin, but finally settled between her legs, curling and coaxing her to arousal._

_A breathy laugh, deep and rich, was hot in her ear. "With a name like that, even the Crows take notice." The warm metal left her momentarily, causing the elf to mewl, but was quickly replaced by dexterous, delicious flesh. A mouth was pressed on hers, hot and inviting. She dueled bravely and overpowered her attacker's tongue, though by now they were more like old flames._

_"Follie, Follie, Follie...!" the voice gasped, thick with lust. Strings of saliva hung between their open mouths, breaths intermingling._

 

_"You son of a bitch."_

 

Varric blinked.

 

"You son of a bitch." There it was again.

He looked up from the manuscript at the Inquisitor. Her entire face was red with embarrassment, shoulders trembling. Those eyes that were usually commanding were now undermined by the shimmer of angry tears. Her fists were balled up in her lap, waiting to be thrown at the dwarf's face.

"Me?" he asked, giving her an exaggerated incredulous look. "What did I do?"

"Who fucking told you my name."

 

Now, normally, Varric would have dropped the act here. But keep in mind, this had been building up since day one. Slowly burning for so, so long, it made his heart ache. All those times she had embarrassed him, humiliated him, belittled him and his work, and then covered it up from the public? No, not even he could let that slide. Not anymore. That stunt on the mountain had been the final shot across his bows, a rallying cry for his hate. Varric would rub as much salt into this wound as he possibly could.

"Now, now, Inquisitor, a good writer never reveals his secrets." He pursed his lips and put a finger up to them, giving a coy wink. Lavellan could only stare at him, embarrassment bleeding through. They held their gaze for a long time before Varric abruptly turned back to the story and kept reading.

_The familiar sound of trousers being unbuckled made her ears perk up. She licked her lips tentatively, secretly excited. Was this how they greeted all newcomers to Antiva?_

The more he read, the more the Inquisitor's composure crumbled. First, she turned away, trying to ignore him. When that didn't work, she just clamped her hands over her ears, eyes tightly shut. She could still hear him from where he sat, though. In a final, futile attempt, she yanked the topmost blanket over her head and covered herself, now shaking quite visibly. It did little to muffle Varric's voice, though.

_-lusty moan bubbled from her throat as he entered her. He was so impossibly big, she was terrified he'd split her in half. But his soft kisses on her cheeks and eyelids, the way he breathlessly murmured her name like a prayer comforted them both. They both lay still for a few moments, adjusting to this new world of pleasure. Finally, the white-haired elf couldn't take it any longer._

_"M-move," she pleaded, hands rubbing the man's pecs. She could feel the groan rumble in his chest as she rubbed, and experimented further by brushing soft fingers over a nipple. The Crow's hips jerked involuntarily, making them both gasp and writhe. He couldn't hold back any longer, and began to piston into her, hitting that sweet spot on every other stroke. She followed him earnestly, impaling herself on his cock-_

" **SHUT UP!!** " roared the Inquisitor as she erupted from the blanket. She bore a striking resemblance to a rage demon, hackles raised and teeth bared. Yet Varric read on, looking... calm? No, worse, he looked _uninterested_. Like this was just some menial chore. The fucking nerve. The elf slowly lifted her hands, preparing to wring his neck, when something caught her eye. There, on the nightstand just beyond the dwarven degenerate, was a water pitcher. Her eyes darted back and forth between them, and she ever-so-slightly hunched down, like a cat preparing to strike. Varric didn't seem to notice. There was a long, pregnant moment of tension.

 

In a flurry, she reached out over him. A hair's breath away from grabbing the pitcher's handle when a burly, silk-clad arm suddenly wrapped around her back, grabbed her other shoulder and awkwardly yanked her back to her spot. The tray fell to the floor with a loud rattle, but neither of them noticed. They were now practically smashed against each other, her arm draped over his shoulders and hanging off him like a dead branch. Her neck craned forward at an artless angle. But that was nothing compared to being _literally_ cheek to cheek with the vile man. He kept a tight grip on her shoulder as he shot a sidelong glance and muttered, "Nice try." As he spoke, his stubble scratched against her cheek like coarse sandpaper. She struggled against him, but it was useless; being bedridden this long had sapped her of her strength, making it easy for Varric to keep her corralled. Sure, the position was more intimate than he had planned, but he preferred this over being soaked. 

He continued the story, reading much louder (despite the elf's equally loud protests). During a particularly sexy passage, he melodramatically swooned and threw up his book-holding hand to his forehead, smacking the Inquisitor in the process.

"Ow! Elgar'nan's-- flaming--" She clutched her eye with her free hand, snarling and sputtering. Varric couldn't help but laugh freely now, his voice's timbre rumbling in both their chests. Shit, he hadn't had this much fun in a dog's age. The dwarf subconsciously ruffled the elf's hair until she slapped it away. He carried on reciting, ignoring Lavellan's struggling.

That is, until a voice from the doorway made them both freeze.

 

"Wh-what are you two doing?" Leliana asked, a hand failing to muffle her laughter.

" **LELIANA!** " the Inquisitor practically wept, arms outstretched like a prisoner being shown mercy at last.

"Varric, what did you do to her?!" The amusement now replaced by concern. The dwarf waved his free hand at her dismissively, before wrapping it tighter around the elf's shoulder.

"Relax, Nightingale. The Inquisitor and I were just reading a story I've been working on." Leliana's eyes lit up, and she came closer to them. She bent her head down a little, trying to get a better look at the draft.

"May I see?"

" **NO!!** " Lavellan cried, and tore the manuscript from Varric's hand. She finally managed to break free from him, and launched it across the room. The impact freed the sheaves from their binding, resulting in a poetic explosion of papers. The action made Lavellan knock her leg into Varric's, though, sending her into a world of agony once more. She looked ready to explode this time, so Varric took the opportunity to hastily slide off the bed and collect his duster. As he gathered the papers off the floor and tried to arrange them, Leliana kept talking back and forth between the two of them. The spymaster was trying to do damage control on the enraged elf who was now scrubbing her face with her palms.

"Inquisito- Inquisitor, _please_ , Varric why is she like this? What did you say to her?" The rogue gave her a knowing look.

"I'm afraid that's confidential, sorry. Surely you of all people can understand," was all he offered. Leliana sighed and turned back to tend to her distraught leader, who was giving Varric the dirtiest, most spiteful look she'd ever seen an elf give. "Besides, my publisher would kill me!" Draping his jacket over his shoulder, the blond dwarf gave a casual salute to Leliana.

"Spymaster," he acknowledged. Turning slightly to the Herald of Andraste, he gave her a smile that would make a sunrise jealous. "You've been a _beautiful_ audience, Inquisitor. Get better soon." And with that, he strolled out the door.

 

For a moment, there was a strange calmness...

... until the laughing started. A heavy silence hung in the room as Varric's voice slowly faded out of earshot.

"I-I didn't know Varric could be so loud," Leliana murmured, astounded. She turned back to the elf, who looked like she was trying to set the door alight through sheer force of will. "Er, how are you feeling, Inquisitor?"

"This means _**war**_ ," muttered Follie.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
